


Got Your Back

by mystiri1



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reno's having a bad day, but there are some things that make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cephy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Over, Above and Through](https://archiveofourown.org/works/59749) by [Cephy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy). 



He knows it's going to be bad as soon as he feels the prick against his skin, registers the fact that one of the guards just shot him with a dart and not a bullet. People don't shoot you with darts if they're expecting nothing to happen. At best, it's supposed to knock him out; at worst – well, Reno's got an idea just how creative scientists can get now that he works for ShinRa.

He can feel his adrenaline racing as he ducks down behind a desk, and he's not sure if it's the situation or the drugs – whatever they are – on the dart, but he figures it doesn't matter. He tugs the dart free, hissing a few pungent curses under his breath as it tries to take some of his skin with it. He's about to toss it aside when Rude plucks it out of his hand. The larger Turk puts his handgun down for a moment, and Reno is looking at him incredulously – they're hugely outnumbered, and Rude is putting his weapon _down?_ \- when he pulls a square of white cloth out of one pocket, wraps the dart in it, and tucks it safely inside his suit. “The infirmary will want to know what you've been dosed with,” he says in explanation as he picks his gun back up.

Reno stares at him blankly for a moment, then swings his baton back up into his grip. He hadn't let go of his own gun, even though it's not his preferred weapon any more than it is Rude's. “Let's just take care of these fuckers,” he replies, because if he makes it back to the infirmary that will make today a good day, a lucky day, and his luck's been running shit so far.

By the time he gets back to the infirmary, Reno feels like his skin is crawling with hundreds of tiny, stinging bugs. He feels too hot, and his muscles jerk with an energy that's not entirely under his control, although he does his best to pretend otherwise. They poke and they prod at him, and he wants to scream at them all to just fuck off, except that would be letting them know it's bothering him more than he wants to admit.

Reno's a Turk, and damned proud of it, and he's not going to humiliate himself in front of a bunch of medical geeks who all think this is just too interesting. He wants out of here, now. They have the dart; they can run all their precious tests on that. He's surrounded by nurses, the doctors having already run off with several blood samples, and he figures this is his best chance, short of pulling a weapon.

"I don't need no fuckin' observation, yo. You know this shit's non-lethal, whatever the hell it is, so what does it matter if I sleep it off at home instead of here?” They don't know, not really, but Reno's still alive and that means there's a fair chance that dart was supposed to knock him out. As to why it didn't – well, Reno has a number of atypical drug reactions. Today is probably the first time he's actually been grateful for it, because if he'd gone sleepy-land like the guards had been expecting, Rude would probably be dead.

That reminds him, he needs to shoot the fucker who said there were only six guards. And when he's feeling better, he needs to kick his own ass for believing it.

Some of the nurses are wavering, because he is a Turk, and Turks don't make for the best patients even when they're not hyped up and cranky with it, so he pushes it some more. "Look, I'm fine, just get off my fuckin' back and let me outta here, already."

Then Rude is coming in, his large form looming over them in a way that makes even the most stubborn nurses take a step back, and he has a clear shot at the door. He takes it, Rude falling into step beside him as they head down the corridor. By the time they reach the end of it, Reno's breathing is a little too fast and hard, his muscles twitching. Despite his words to the nurses, he knows he's not going to make it home, so they head for the next best place: a small, plain room that Turks use when they need somewhere to crash overnight. It's not home, not the privacy he really wants if he's going to shake apart the way he thinks he is, but it's safe, and that will have to do.

Two steps inside the door, his legs buckle beneath him, and if it was anybody but Rude, he'd hate that he'd needed somebody to catch him, to help him to the bed. His limbs are shaking, and his jaw feels tight and sore from clenching it against the tremors that want to take over, that are slowly winning as the drug's effects become too much for him to ward off any longer. He's cursing his own carelessness, apologising, because surely if he were better he never would have let somebody get the drop on him like this, reduce him to this painful, twitching mess. Rude's voice is quiet, implacable, unwavering in its assurances. Sitting still is too much for Reno, and he gets up, paces in an attempt to work off some of the energy racing thorough him, and Rude is there every step of the way.

If anybody had to see this, he's glad it's Rude. He's seen people like this, the indignity of it, the lack of control, and hates the idea that it's happening to him, even if it's not the first time. The first time was in ShinRa's infirmary, when a doctor gave him a perfectly normal local anaesthetic, only to discover that Reno was incredibly sensitive to any number of common drugs. He only vaguely remembers that, was pretty out of it at the time, but he remembers more some of the assumptions made afterwards; the people who looked at him as if they knew who he was and where he came from, and none of them had a fucking _clue_.

Yeah, Reno grew up under the Plate, surrounded by whores and thieves, pushers and junkies. Drugs were common in the slums, a way of escaping the harsh realities of life, but it was a never a route he took. Under the Plate, most drugs were cut with mako, a way to make the high stronger and the drugs go further. Gathering raw mako was dangerous under the best of circumstances, and stealing the refined stuff used by ShinRa an automatic death sentence, so the mako used was waste, tainted with numerous other chemicals and by-products from the reactors; any single hit was just as likely to kill someone as it was to get them high. His sensitivities to drugs and the high level of mako in his system are a legacy from his mother, whom he watched choke to death on her own vomit when he was seven. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her strung out that bad, and he'd already known that he never wanted that to be him. That people assume he would ever be that stupid pisses him off, and it pisses him off even more to know that it doesn't matter.

He's a Turk now, has a job that pays well, a partner he can trust, has respect, has a _life_ , and still, one doctor giving him the wrong painkiller or a half-trained guard with a fucking _dart gun_ can bring it all crashing down around him.

It's probably just as well that Reno never believed that life was fair, because if he had, he'd be really disillusioned right about now.

And then it really hits: heat, pain, muscles spasming and jerking as he tries to bite back the sounds trapped behind his teeth and any thoughts he has left are lost in overwhelming, unpleasant sensation. He's only half-aware of Rude carrying him to the bed, laying him down and then pulling a chair close to wait.

He's not sure how long it lasts – feels like forever to him – and when he finally calms enough to register anything else, it's Rude he notices first, sitting there; quiet and watchful, non-judgemental. Any number of terrible, horrible things have happened to him, but Reno figures getting Rude as a partner is luck enough to counter all of it.

“Better?” Rude asks, as sparing with words as always, and Reno feels something in him relax, because yeah, this is definitely better.

He shrugs, and the movement scrapes across his nerve endings. "Sorta. Though-” He hesitates, then admits, because this is Rude, and there's a limit to how much Reno can bullshit him; not much that he feels the need to hide from him even now, “Fuckin' hell, it still feels like I got broken glass under my skin." He looks around, wanting something to distract him from the rawness the drug has left in its wake, and ends up looking back at Rude, because there's one thing that always helps center him when he's feeling lost. “C'mere.”

It takes some arguing, and Reno's not really surprised by that. He figures he looks a mess, and yeah, there are some circumstances where watching somebody twitch and writhe and moan really isn't a turn-on, but he always manages to talk Rude into sex when he wants it, and now is no exception. He's not feeling all that horny himself, but the touch of Rude's skin against his still feels better than the harsh rasp of fabric, and it gives him something to focus on. And while the rest of his flesh feels painfully hypersensitive and raw, the same is not true of his mouth, where the slide of lips and tongue against his is nothing but pure pleasure. It's even better when Rude pushes inside him, warm and hard and solid; a presence that anchors him, that fills him up and holds him down when he still feels like he could fly away into a million pieces at any moment.

He meets Rude's eyes and knows that his partner isn't fooled by the enthusiasm with which Reno touches him, that Rude knows this isn't as great an experience for him as it could be, but Rude doesn't say anything as Reno pulls him back down for another kiss. When they were first partnered up, Rude's silences drove Reno wild; now he relies upon them, secure in the knowledge that Rude won't say anything about days like today, that he won't push for any more than Reno is willing to give. He loops his arms around Rude's neck and sighs in satisfaction as the larger Turk moves inside him, as he shudders his way to completion.

He's not surprised when, afterwards, Rude slides down between his legs. The other man isn't a selfish lover, and while he's easy enough to persuade into sex, he's quick to catch onto any other games Reno plays along those lines. That, more than any generosity between the sheets, is one of the reasons Reno comes back to him again and again. The hot slide of Rude's mouth over sensitive flesh does a lot to provoke the arousal that had been so lacking before: it feels good in a way Reno hadn't expected to feel while the drug still lingers in his system, drives him up hard and fast so that he arches into it, shameless and eager. This time when his muscles tense it's in pleasure, not pain, and the lassitude his own orgasm leaves behind make him think that maybe now he can finally get some sleep, despite the small tremors that still run through him.

Rude's cell rings, and Reno ignores it, even though it's probably about him. The drug is wearing off, he's feeling sleepy, and when he wakes everything will be back to normal. Rude turns off the lights and climbs into bed beside him. The cot is narrow enough that it leaves Reno sandwiched up against the wall, but he's not complaining. The door is locked, and Rude's got his back, and that's as close to a happy ending as he figures he's going to get for a day like today.

And that's not so bad at all.


End file.
